


Under the Covers

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Fake Marriage, Sharing a Bed, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 06:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: Strike and Robin go undercover as a couple to discover who's planting cameras in high-end hotel rooms. For the ploy to work they're going to have to play the part 24/7, stirring up unexpected feelings, and soon Robin is pushed to make a decision about her personal life.





	Under the Covers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ardentaislinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/gifts).



Strike handled the tiny device, squinting a little at it. "Definitely a camera," he agreed. He could pass it to his technically minded acquaintance Spanner to see if there was any way to trace it to whoever had purchased and planted it, but it seemed like a long shot.

Gregory DeWitt, the hotel manager, nodded, face sombre. He'd insisted on meeting at a private club where he was convinced no-one would overhear them. "This is the second device we've found. So far there's been no attempt at blackmail."

Didn't mean it wouldn’t happen. Maybe nothing worth blackmailing had shown up on the cameras yet. Or maybe there was another motive.

"Could just be for voyeurism," Strike suggested.

DeWitt blanched. "If anyone were to find out…we pride ourselves on providing a discreet environment."

Which meant no police, which meant a nice little assignment for Strike.

"I'll look into it," Strike said. He'd already come up with a plan. It would involve a trip to the hotel, a beautiful establishment 45 minutes from London, which sat on the edge of a quaint village which was home to a 14th Century church and an actual village green.

"Thank you." DeWitt was relieved, sitting back in his leather chair. "You come highly recommended. I trust this won't take long to resolve."

How long was a piece of string? Strike merely nodded. "I'll need your full co-operation."

"Of course."

"And a room for me and my partner, Robin."

* * *

"Robin," Strike called, strolling into the office, a single red rose in one hand, "would you do me the honour of marrying me?"

Robin, glaring at the screen and typing furiously, came to a sudden stop, blinked, focussed on Strike. "What?"

He handed her the rose. "Marry me."

Robin sniffed the bloom, a smile on her face. "You know I'm engaged?" She wasn't averse to the joke, though she pointed out, "Also you left the sale label on. No woman wants to know she's getting half-price flowers."

"Good eye," Strike said cheerfully, moving to switch on the kettle. "We're taking the Meadows Spire hotel job."

He gave her the details while making tea, handed her a steaming mug as he outlined his plan.

"So, will you agree to be my unlawfully, unwedded, fake wife for a couple of days?"

Robin eyed the rose again. "Yes, Cormoran," she said. "I will."

* * *

"Mr and Mrs Harcourt-West," Strike told the receptionist. He had one arm around Robin's waist and she was leaning into him. The hotel lounge was opulent with marble flooring and expensive rugs, leather chairs and mahogany everywhere. It practically smelt of money. Robin felt mildly guilty for her heels despoiling the rug.

They'd made up a full backstory for this brief undercover job and Robin had had a lot of fun doing so. She had been touched when Strike said, "So, I, Thomas Harcourt married you, Lucy West, in 2014, and we became the Harcourt-Wests."

Matthew had always assumed she'd take his name, no double-barrel for her, let alone him. She'd assumed it too, because until recently she'd always assumed the same things Matthew did, had let him lead the way. She was the one to move from her home for his career. She was to make any and all sacrifices for the relationship and expected to put it first. Any hint that maybe finding a house "near good schools" wasn't that important to her, or that her low paid but exciting work with Strike was better than some dull but highly paid job, led to fierce rows.

She was always the one to apologise after an argument. She always had to smooth things over.

She couldn't remember the last time he'd brought her flowers. Even half-price ones.

"Our first honeymoon was a disaster," Strike told the thin, pale, porter who escorted them and their luggage to the lift. "Hurricane season. So I promised we'd have a luxury weekend away to celebrate our third anniversary, if we made it that far."

"Thomas!" Robin scolded but with laugher in her tone. She nudged him with her hip and he grinned at her. For a moment she was lost in his eyes. The lift arrived. Strike took her hand as they stepped inside.

The lift stopped at the third floor. They trailed after the porter to room 303. He opened the door and let them inside, placing their bags down with care.

Robin's mouth fell open and she sought to regain her composure for Lucy Harcourt-West would find this acceptable and not bloody amazing. 

She ran her eyes over the facilities; kingsize bed, mahogany bedside tables, beautiful wardrobes, a dressing table, two leather armchairs by the large window which overlooked the grounds. 

A landscape depicting the nearby church graced one wall, almost lost in a heavy gilt frame. Another oil painting hung above the bed showing a soldier on horseback; he wore a blue tabard with a white cross and a cavalier hat with an ostrich feather.

A table held a coffee machine, kettle, china tea cups, along with a telephone and the number for room service, with a minibar sitting below. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar and Robin glimpsed white tile and shining chrome.

"Anything you need, call the desk," the man said. Strike tipped him and he left, closing the door behind him.

"Alone at last," Strike said.

The façade might have ended there but they'd agreed to keep up the pretence in private, not knowing if their room might have been bugged or would soon be.

"I'm going to unpack," Robin said.

Strike lay on the bed, watching her work. "You're as lovely as the day I met you," he said and it sounded so sincere that Robin didn't dare face him, unexpectedly warmed by the compliment and blinking hard as she hung up her dresses and his shirts.

"Lucy?"

"I'd like to see the fountain," she said, changing the subject. The hotel was proud of their grounds which had a small walled garden and an impressive fountain at the centre of a waist-high labyrinth made of carefully trimmed hedges.

"Of course." Strike got up, moved around the room. "Housekeeping has done a good job."

He was checking for cameras of course. Finding nothing he placed their own camera, hidden in a silver photo frame (Spanner had lent them this useful 'bit of kit'), on the bedside table closest to the window, aimed at an angle to see as much of the room as possible.

Robin had offered to Photoshop something to put in the frame, but Strike had insisted they make it look real. They'd gone to a photographer he knew who owed him a favour, Strike wearing the best suit he owned, Robin in the green dress he'd given her after their first case together. They were both holding champagne glasses in this fake engagement party photo, Robin's real engagement ring visible, Strike's arm around her, his hand on her elbow. They were both smiling at the camera.

"Looks great," Strike had enthused as he'd put the photo in the frame but Robin had felt a pang as she recalled how one of her brothers had reacted to seeing photos of her with Matthew.

"You don't look happy," he'd said. "You're not Victoria Beckham. Smile a little."

Now Robin twisted the plain gold band – cheapest wedding style ring she could find – thoughtfully.

* * *

They walked the labyrinth at a leisurely pace, discussing if the porter was a likely suspect. Too obvious a suspect, perhaps.

"Why make us walk a maze just to get to the fountain?" Strike complained halfway around. "We can see the bloody thing from here, it's not even a surprise!"

"It's a labyrinth," Robin said. "Not a maze."

He gave her a questioning look.

"There's only one path," she explained. "You follow it all the way in and pause in the centre. Then you make your way back. The same path but it's different, because you're going in the other direction. You're different. It's a spiritual thing."

"You are a font of knowledge," Strike said with appreciation.

She brushed off his praise with a laugh. "Your leg isn't bothering you? We don't have to go all the way to the fountain if it is."

"I'm fine," he said. "Though I'm getting sorely tempted to try and vault the next hedge."

"Don't!" she laughed. "Thomas Harcourt-West would never do such a thing!"

He smiled, took her hand again. "You're right."

They finally reached the fountain and both sat on the worn stone edge. It was peaceful and Robin closed her eyes, lifting her face to the late afternoon sun. When she opened them again she found Strike regarding her with a gentle smile and she lowered her gaze, checked her watch and said, "We should head back."

* * *

Dinner was wonderful. Strike had made sure that all his expenses were being covered and he intended to take full advantage of it.

"Come on Lucy, live a little," he urged, shaking the cloth napkin over his knee while she pondered the salads.

They both ordered the steak and a mid-priced bottle of wine. Strike told her amusing stories from his military past, for he'd given Thomas Harcourt a background close to his own to make it easier to remember.

It thrilled him to hear Robin laugh. Charlotte had laughed but sometimes it was false laughter and sometimes malicious snickering, but Robin's giggles and delighted outbursts were never either of those things.

They ordered pudding, and he encouraged the cheesecake over the fruit salad, choosing the chocolate delight for himself.

"Want to try a bit?" he said, seeing her eye up his cake as it was placed with due reverence on their table. It was a dark double layer sponge with rich icing and white sprinkles. She nodded and was about to lean over to use her spoon but Strike scooped up a piece of cake on his spoon and offered it to her.

Robin mouthed the spoon, pulling the cake into her mouth. She chewed, clearly enjoying the taste, before swallowing. She licked at her lips. One crumb had escaped her though and Strike fixated on it, fascinated by the dark cake on her light skin, just above the rose red lips.

"It's lovely," she said, digging into her own cheesecake.

"Lovely," Strike echoed.

Robin dabbed at her mouth with her napkin afterwards and Strike had to berate himself for the thought that he'd have liked to wipe away that stray crumb. And not necessarily with his napkin.

As they finished their wine, Strike reached over to take her hand, rubbing at her knuckles with his thumb and in the candlelight Robin seemed to glow.

* * *

They took turns in the bathroom, Strike emerging wearing a faded military t-shirt and boxers, Robin changing into sweet silken pajamas, ivory with a floral pattern.

"You all right?" Strike asked as Robin walked around the bed. She understood the question but they'd discussed this, if it was necessary to share the bed (yes), if it was acceptable (yes), if he needed to put a pillow between them (which made Robin scoff).

Robin had told him it was fine and not to be so ridiculous. She trusted him to behave himself. 

"I'm fine," she said, though there was a frisson of something now the moment was upon her. Not fear. More like – anticipation?

She glanced at the photo, caressed the corner (well away from the camera lens) before she climbed beneath the covers. She was selling the lie, she told herself, that was all.

Meanwhile Strike was still sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Are you all right?" she asked, leaning up on one elbow.

"Yeah. Just." He patted his thigh.

"It's all right," Robin said softly. She reached over to place her hand on his back. "It doesn't matter to me. I don't like that it hurts you, is all. Nothing else bothers me about it."

There was a heavy silence. Strike removed the prosthesis, left it leaning against the bedside table, and tucked himself in next to Robin. He leaned up and switched off the light.

They lay in the dark for several minutes, Robin's eyes adjusting to the gloom as she stared at the ceiling.

"This is weird," Strike whispered.

"Sssh," Robin said, afraid of blowing their cover.

He shifted closer, whispered in her ear. "It is though."

"Yes. It is. Now go to sleep."

"Is that an order?" he teased.

"Yes." Robin leaned over impulsively and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Good night."

She turned over, mortified, cheeks aflame. She felt Strike move over to his side of the bed and shuffle around until he was comfortable. He was snoring softly before Robin could relax enough to let herself drift off.

* * *

Strike woke to find Robin cradled against him, her head on his chest, red-gold hair spread around her she were like an angel fallen from heaven and into some undeserving wretch's lap. His right arm was draped over her, his hand dangerously close to cupping her breast.

He held his breath, uncertain what to do. Wake her? Stay still and pretend to be asleep, giving her a chance to wake up and get off him without the need for an awkward conversation? Lie here and enjoy the warmth of her lithe body against his, the scent of her green tea shampoo and the way her hair shone in the early morning light?

He closed his eyes and Robin woke with such a snort that it startled him, making him release his hold on her, and nobody was going to be able to pretend they'd slept through that.

"Morning," Strike said cheerfully as he saw confusion, recognition, and then embarrassment show in Robin's eyes.

She rolled off him, facing the window.

"Lucy," he called, trying to remind her not to break their cover.

"Sorry," she said. "Sorry." After a moment she turned back over to face him, lying on her side of the bed, just out of reach. "I was dreaming. I got startled."

"It's okay. We're in a strange place. It happens." He gave a yawn. "Do you want to shower first?"

"Yes. Thank you." She was out of bed in seconds, grabbing clothing and disappearing into the bathroom. Both cameras had been found in the bedrooms, not the ensuite, and Strike had searched it thoroughly last night, so she was probably safe in there. 

Strike gave a sigh, scratched at his chest. His gaze fell on the photo and a smile tugged at his lips.

Between the recognition as Robin had recalled where they were and why, before the embarrassment had then sunk in as she realised she was lying on top of him, he fancied he'd seen affection. But fancy was just another word for fantasy and he couldn't afford to put any faith in such things.

* * *

Breakfast was initially awkward but Strike made a few silly jokes and soon Robin was laughing again.

"What do you want to do today?" he asked, finishing up his third cup of tea and missing his mug which held so much more liquid. There's the swimming pool and sauna, or we could visit the church in the village. And there's a wine tasting this afternoon on the veranda."

Robin tipped her head. "Perhaps we should stay on site," she said pointedly.

"Sauna it is," Strike said.

When they got back to their room however he frowned. Housekeeping had already been in to straighten the room and that might explain the silver frame being twisted, and the cushion on the armchair being in a different place, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

Strike gave Robin a look and she nodded, stayed exactly where she was, by the door. He moved around the bed, picked up the photo frame. "I promised to show my mate this when I called him to show off where we are," he said. "Let's go and Skype him. Bring the laptop, yeah?"

"Yes," Robin said and a few minutes later they were sat on a stone bench in the grounds, Strike plugging the tiny camera into the laptop.

They watched as the culprit entered their room, planted the camera so it was pointing at the bed. Not the porter but one of the waiters, Edward DeWitt, Gregory's cousin and a man that Strike had been told by the manager was beyond reproach.

"Guess our second honeymoon's over," Strike said.

* * *

DeWitt was shocked, saddened, and as Strike and Robin left his office and a security officer led Edward in, furious.

"Let's go pack," Strike said. "We'll settle up with DeWitt when he's finished settling up with his cousin and soon-to-be ex-employee."

In their short absence, another intruder had taken up residence.

"Hello?" Strike said, hand on the door knob as he found Matthew sitting on the bed.

"What are you doing here?" Robin demanded, pushing past Strike and confronting Matthew.

"Wondering why my fiancée spent the night in another man's bed!" He got to his feet and Strike took a step forward in case things got violent.

Robin was outraged. "You're spying on me?"

Matthew was no less angry. "My colleague from sales is down here on business and he saw you last night! What was I supposed to think? What the hell are you doing? Do you know how you've made me look?"

Strike cleared his throat. "You did know we were coming down to investigate?"

"I expected separate rooms!" Matthew's face was red with anger, and at first Strike thought Robin's pale cheeks were flushed with shame.

But then Robin's lip curled and she unleashed her rage. "I would have told you the truth if I thought you could handle it! But you can't! You're jealous and disrespectful of Cormoran and you make everything about you! I love this job but you hate it, and I have done so much for you!" 

Matthew opened his mouth but didn't get a chance to interject as Robin barely paused for breath before she went on, "I left my family behind in Yorkshire for you, I've agreed when you talk about the wedding and who I'm allowed to invite and what we're allowed to spend money on, and what food we'll have and yet we never even talked about if I want to take your damn name!"

Matthew frowned, taken aback at that last one. "What?"

"You make the decisions," she said. "You talk about finding schools when we've barely talked about kids at all. You talk all the time about your career but only ever about mine when you want to complain that I'm not earning enough money. You never even buy me flowers! You stopped trying! You stopped loving me and started taking me for granted!"

She was still yelling but tears were rolling down her cheeks now. Matthew was horrified. Strike was frozen, torn between leaving them to this private argument and staying to make sure Robin was safe.

"I buy you gifts," Matthew tried.

"I fucking hate that stupid necklace," Robin railed at him. "It's ugly and pretentious and yet you expected me to like it! You don't know me! You don't understand me!"

"Robin –"

"No." She was calm as if the eye of the hurricane had reached them, anger still simmering, cheeks wet, but her voice was steady. "You could have blown our cover showing up here and that's too far. You've disrespected me too many times. I can't give you more than I have, I can't be the woman you want. I'm tired, Matthew. Tired of being the only decent looking girl with a half a brain! Find yourself someone better looking, someone more compliant, someone less like me!"

She tugged off her ring, threw it at him. It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor.

"Robin," Matthew said again but with a note of panic.

"Get out," Robin said and she went into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Matthew made a move and Strike cleared his throat.

"Maybe let her calm down," he said. "Take the ring, yeah?"

Matthew glared at him but after a moment he picked up the discarded ring and stormed out, stamping off down the hallway. Strike closed the door and ensured it was locked. He was going to have a word with DeWitt about increasing security in the hotel.

Strike packed his things with the quiet efficiency born of a military career. Then he knocked on the bathroom door. "Matthew's gone. I'm going to go and see how DeWitt's getting on. You can pack up, meet me in the bar after? Get a hot chocolate before we leave?"

The door flew open.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Robin said. She was pale, eyes red-rimmed, but calm now. "It was unprofessional."

"No," Strike said. "He shouldn't have followed you. I don't blame you for that nor for you being angry about it. Things just got out of hand. It'll blow over." He stepped away, moved to the door.

Robin toyed with the gold band on her finger. "It won't. I realise that now. I can't be who he wants me to be. I can't be happy and be who he wants. I want to be happy."

"You deserve to be happy."

She shook her head. "I don't know what I'm going to do now."

"You'll figure it out," Strike said. "You are brave and clever and resourceful, Robin Ellacot. It's going to be okay."

She gave a wan smile but her lower lip trembled. Abruptly, she threw herself at him, and he held her tightly against him.

"We'll get through this," he said and Robin looked up, at him, eyes locked on his. "I'd offer you to move in with me temporarily – it's conveniently close to the office – but I think it would be a bit crowded."

That drew a genuine giggle. "I never wanted to be a Cunliffe anyway," Robin said, stepping away and wiping at her face with her thumbs.

"Yeah, I get that. I keep accidentally putting a T in it," Strike joked.

Robin shook her head, but she smiled.

* * *

On the drive home, Strike kept up a stream of inconsequential chatter, playing with the radio when he thought they needed further distraction.

His eyes were drawn to Robin's hands on the steering wheel, delicate looking but deft and capable. She was still wearing the gold band.

She'd probably just not thought to take it off yet. It probably didn't mean anything at all.

* * *

Robin appreciated Strike trying to take her mind off things while they made their way back to London, but he was worrying unnecessarily. She felt clear-headed and free in a way she hadn't known she needed, not realising until it was over how trapped the engagement and impending wedding had made her feel.

The sunlight glinted off the ring as she turned a corner. She'd have to take it off, the last vestige of the pretence, the final reminder that what she'd had with Strike was no more real that what she'd once thought she had with Matthew.

"Do you want to stop off somewhere?" Robin asked on a whim.

"Sure."

"There's a monument not far from here and there's supposed to be a nice café nearby."

"You're driving, you decide," Strike said.

Robin grinned. London and reality could wait. They'd spend the rest of the day together and after that, well that was a problem for later.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my tireless beta Tinamour  
> [tumblr promo post](https://meridianrosewrites.tumblr.com/post/169461859937/meridianrose-under-the-covers-3915-words-by)


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